Writer’s Progress

I saw in my dream that as Writer made his way towards the City of Published Words, he fell into a great Slough. And because of the mighty burden of Unwritten Book upon his shoulders, he could not climb out again, but continually slid back. He called out to one that stood by, What do they call this terrible place? For I sink down and cannot mount again. And he that stood by said that some called it the Bog of Writer’s Block, and some the Fen of Procrastination, but privily we call it the Slough of Despond. Presently he was aware of a crowd of men and women that stood a little way off from the Slough, calling out with cheerful voices. And some cried, Dig deeper, man, for you are but at the surface. And others cried, A hundred words before breakfast, and Carve out time! And some sang Nay-no! Rhyme-oh! and other like incomprehensible ditties. And Writer cried out, what am I to do, for my burden is intolerable? And one reproached him, saying, Be not so preachy! Then as he floundered in the mire, Writer espied another man lying prone with a burden upon him yet greater than his own. Man, he said, what is your name and why lie you thus motionless? And he said, I am called Scribbler, and I have lost all hope of getting myself and my burden together out of this Slough. Then said Writer, brother Scribbler, let us pile up our burdens one upon the other and perchance by climbing upon them we may scramble out and draw them after us. And so with great and Co-operative labour they did, and went on their way.

Then, much later I saw in my dream that Writer and Scribbler pursued their pilgrimage. They bore no longer those heavy burdens upon their backs, and instead each in his hand carried a fair scroll, written with many words within and without. And as they walked they read snatches from their scrolls one to the other, and so they heartened each other. And presently they came to a parting of the ways, where stood a fair damsel, whose name was Advisor. And Advisor addressed the pilgrims saying, Sirs, I perceive you are hoping to come to the City of Published Words in short order. Yes, Lady, said they, but we are perplexed which way to take. Then said she, take this road and you shall find a Retreat for all who love Books. Ah, said Writer, a retreat! That will be a place of quiet and repose and solace where we may rest awhile and heal the pains we have endured on our pilgrimage. At which the damsel laughed heartily, but said no more. So as they drew near to the Retreat, Scribbler said, Brother, I perceive that the damsel has beguiled us. For they heard a din of music and voices, and soon caught sight of a vast throng of folk, and in all directions were market stalls and sellers crying their wares. And he that maintained the nearest stall espied the scrolls in their hands, and he was named Immediate Messenger, and he said, I will make you a mountain of scrolls, provided only that you possess a modest storehouse for them, and that you will go half shares with me. At which the pilgrims did marvel. And Scribbler cried aloud, saying, This should be a Retreat for quiet reflection but ye have made it a Vanity Publishing Fair! At which Writer reproved him, saying, Peace, brother, and judge not; for we all have gifts that differ according to the grace given us. But perceiving that they spoke against their customs, the dwellers there besought them to leave that town. Then the pilgrims returned to the crossroads. And Advisor mocking, said, What, do you retreat already? And they said, nay, but we shall seek the Independents’ road to the City.

And lastly I saw Writer and Scribbler, who held aloft their scrolls, passing over a grid of iron bars above a pit both deep and wide. And although no trumpets sounded for them on the other side, they came to the House Beautiful. And they went up into a fair chapel and found stillness, and when they were rested they entered a well-appointed refectory where they met with excellent fare and a merry company. And afterwards they were conducted by the two Placid Shining Ones into a pleasant Lounge that was called Marsh (but was no Slough), where they read their scrolls to the company. And they all did edify one another in truth and love.